


Lost and Found

by darthjamtart



Series: Questing [2]
Category: Lost Girl
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone has to be the princess, and it definitely isn’t Kenzi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleete](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleete/gifts).



Dyson’s jabbing angrily at the GPS display, which is still refusing to give them the right directions, when Kenzi realizes something.

“Oh my god,” she says, eyes going wide and one hand darting out to poke Dyson in the arm. “You’re the wolf, and you’re guiding me!”

Dyson gives her a look, as if to say, _yes, and?_

“You’re серый волк! Like in the stories!” Kenzi is flailing a bit now, but she thinks that’s perfectly understandable. Usually when stories from her childhood turn out to be real Fae things, it’s way less pleasant. Dyson throws the GPS out the window.

“Turn right up ahead,” he says, and winces when Kenzi slams on the brakes to make the turn. Kenzi scowls, because she’s not _that_ bad a driver, and it’s not like Dyson can do any better, not with a broken leg.

“Does this make Hale the princess?” Kenzi asks. There’s a muffled protest from the back seat, where Hale is not-quite-comatose, his face mashed against the window. Kenzi doesn’t think he should be complaining, considering all the trouble they went to rescuing him in time for the Grand High Whatchamacallit Council Meeting, or whatever.

It’s not that Hale isn’t a totally bitchin’ Ash, Kenzi thinks. It’s just that the job seems to have a fairly high casualty rate. She’d really like Hale to survive longer than the last Ash.

“Turn left,” Dyson says, gruff and leaning out the window to sniff the air, and he so doesn’t appreciate Kenzi’s epic restraint, not making dog jokes. “Stop,” he says, just as Kenzi catches sight of Bo.

There’s some reverse energy-sucking, and Dyson’s leg is healed. Hale waves Bo away when she tries to help him out, though, staggering to his feet and draping a lanky arm over Kenzi’s shoulders. “I’m good,” he gasps out, and Kenzi tries to silently communicate to Bo the whole mostly-successful rescue story.

“What?” says Bo. “Kenzi, I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me. What happened to you guys?”

It was a little too complicated for hand gestures, Kenzi admits to herself. Especially since neither of them know sign language.

“Okay, so, Dyson helped me track down Hale and the stupid kidnapping jerks who stole him in the first place, but they had this whole magically-rigged jail cell set up that wouldn’t let Hale out unless there was another Fae inside. Sort of like in that Indiana Jones movie, where Harrison Ford uses a bag of sand to replace the statue?”

Hale frowns, peering down at himself, then giving Dyson a once-over. Dyson looks similarly offended. Kenzi isn’t sure why; both guys are seriously buff.

“Anyway, Dyson stayed behind so he could break out of the cell when someone came to check on Hale, and I was in charge of the getaway vehicle, except I kinda-sorta bumped into Dyson a little when he caught up to us.” Kenzi shrugs when Dyson glares at her. “Look, it was an accident,” she snaps. “I already apologized like a hundred times. And you’re all healed now, so we’re good, right?”

“We’ll be good when Hale meets with the Council,” Dyson says, and Hale nods sharply before staggering into the woods, because apparently the Fae can never have their super-important meetings at a nice restaurant. Kenzi hands the car keys to Dyson, who slips into the driver’s seat and turns the key once, twice. The engine lets out a wheeze and then goes silent.

“Okay, this is not my fault,” Kenzi says, when Dyson glares at her. “From what I remember, we should consider ourselves lucky there isn’t a dead horse.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Bo says. “But if we’re walking home, we should probably get going.” She turns toward the road, takes two steps away from the car, and that’s when the crows show up.

Kenzi shrieks, because she’s seen this Hitchcock movie and has zero interest in participating in a reenactment. A minute later, the cawing and scratching end abruptly, and Kenzi peers through her fingers to see Dyson picking feathers out of his teeth and clutching a single crow in one hand.

“Give us back our brother,” caws one of the crows, perched safely on a branch overhead.

“Dyson, what the hell?” Bo hisses.

“Dark Fae,” Dyson explains. “They serve the Morrigan.” He exchanges a sneering glance with the crow who’d addressed them, and adds, “Sometimes.”

“Talking crows,” Kenzi mutters, then cringes when the crows all fix beady eyes on her.

“We just wanted a snack,” one of the crows calls out, from another tree.

“Humans so rarely wander through these woods,” adds another. One of the closest birds shifts even closer, and Dyson tightens his grip on the captive crow until it squawks in protest.

“Yeah, well, Kenzi isn’t a snack!” Bo declares. “Promise to leave us alone, and you can have your brother back.”

There’s a rustle of discontented feathers, but at last the first crow who’d talked to them replies, “Deal.”

“You couldn’t have bargained for help fixing the car?” Kenzi asks.

“Do we look like we have opposable thumbs?” a crow asks, and its feathers sweep against Kenzi’s cheek as the flock disperses.

***

***


End file.
